


Heaven Park

by Zeckarin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Class Differences, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gabriel is a wanker, Gen, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Human Lucifer, Mansfield Park fusion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), The author loves Jane Austen and it shows, human God
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Based on "Mansfield Park"The young Aziraphale is sent to live with his aunt Frances and his uncle Lucian after his mother's death. Between a caring, but absent aunt, an uncle prone to bouts of rage and four cousins eager to bully him, his life would be quite sad if it weren't for his secret friendship with the mysterious Crowley, who works in the garden.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently learned there already was a GO fic named Eden Park!!!  
> So I changed the name. I feel so guilty, even if I wasn't aware.  
> I checked on Heaven Park's name, it's okay^^ 
> 
> Tags will be added as we go^^  
>   
> A million thanks to my wonderful beta megzseattle!!

Aziraphale looked out of the window as the coach pulled over in front of Heaven Park. It was a white manor, with a dark roof, way larger than his father’s house. He didn’t like it, though. The house was so huge it seemed like a monster, its windows dozens of angry eyes.

But the park around it was full of trees and flowers, and Aziraphale had always loved trees. He wondered if he would be allowed to read outside.

He didn't move when the door opened, a servant ready to help him.

Mrs. Zuigiber spared him a sharp look from the other side of the coach before stepping out, lips tight, head held high, her red hair seeming to burn as the sun touched it.

He didn't need her to talk, he knew what she was thinking. She had told him at length already during the trip. The first day she had helped him make his trunk, emptying almost everything he had put inside. There wasn’t enough room, she had said before closing the lid.

It wasn’t true, there was plenty of room left, but he had stayed silent. His father’s new wife didn’t like him, and Mrs Zuigiber, who was her sister and had come to live with them after the wedding, seemed to hate him even more. Maybe it was because his bedroom was nicer than hers.

He had followed her outside, let his nanny hug him and call him her “poor, poor child” with tears in her eyes, then Mrs Zuigiber had pushed him into the coach. Aziraphale felt a little guilty about nanny. She wouldn’t stay to the mansion without him to care for, and losing one’s job wasn’t good news. She had told him she would find a position somewhere else with his father’s credentials.

He really hoped Father wouldn’t forget the recommendation. He had forgotten to say goodbye to Aziraphale, but maybe he would remember to write a credential for nanny. She had taken care of Aziraphale for eight years, that deserved a good letter.

During the first day, Mrs. Zuigiber had tried to hug him several times and had asked lots of questions. How was he faring? Was he hungry? Did he miss his mother? It was normal to be sad, he could cry, she had assured him. He hadn't said a word, had shied away from the hugs, repelled by this stranger trying to hold him.

The second day had brought more questions, then, when his companion had realized he didn’t intend to answer, a heavy silence.

The last day had been filled with sharp sentences. He was a _bad_ child. He was _mean_ and didn't deserve any kindness. Mrs. Zuigiber was wasting her time to bring him to his new family, and he didn't even show the slightest gratitude. He didn't even _cry_. His father was right to get rid of him now that he had a new wife. He didn’t need a stupid, ungrateful son. What a mean, _wretched_ boy, not even being _sad_. He hadn't loved his mother.

He had looked out the window, pretending not to hear. He wasn't feeling grateful at all for being dragged to an unknown land, in an unknown house, full of strangers. He missed his bedroom and his nanny and his books.

He missed Mother. Her voice and the sweet scent of her perfume.

The last accusation was the worst. It wasn't true. He loved Mother. He did. It wasn't true.

He kept the sentence in a loop in his head, feeling the grip on his chest loosen bit by bit. Mrs. Zuigiber couldn't follow him here, in his own mind, and her voice faded in the background for the last leg of the trip. Aziraphale's eyes turned to the landscape, not seeing any of it, focussing on his breathing and on that one sentence which lost all its meaning after a few hours.

_It is not true. It is not true. It is not true._

He was still repeating it while Mrs. Zuigiber introduced him to his mother’s sister, Lady Frances Archer, and her husband, Mr. Lucian Archer.

Lady Frances said "Welcome to Heaven Park, Aziraphale" and told him he could call them Aunt and Uncle. Aziraphale didn’t like it, but stayed silent. He knew he had to behave, Father had told him. He had nowhere else to go now, and if his aunt and uncle didn’t want him, he didn’t know what would become of him. Would he live on the streets? Would he have to beg like the children he had seen that one time his parents had taken him to the City?

He was certain he wouldn’t be any good at begging. He couldn’t talk to strangers. He had trouble talking to his own nanny sometimes. He would die if his aunt decided she didn’t want him after all. But he knew Mother had loved Aunt Frances very much, and that they wrote to each other at least once a week. And he looked a lot like Mother, everyone told him. He had her platinum, curly hair, her green-blue eyes, and even her smile, when he decided to show it, which wasn’t often. He hoped it would be enough.

Uncle Lucian asked him a few questions, didn’t receive an answer, then huffed and signalled to a servant. Aziraphale was guided out of the room, his aunt smiling at him softly. He didn’t look at Mrs. Zuigiber. He was certain she would take his old bedroom as soon as she got back.

“I will take you to your room, master Fell,” explained the maid, who was the most beautiful woman Aziraphale had ever seen. She had a gentle smile, large, dark eyes, and her black hair was as curly as his. He tilted his head to see her better, regretting the loss of his pencils and notebooks (there hadn’t been room enough in the trunk for them). He wondered how to reproduce the warm, rich tone of her dark chocolate skin.

The maid opened a door and smiled at him. “Here you are, master Fell. My name is Eve, and I will take care of you from now on. Your trunk is here already, I will unload it in a minute. But first, I am quite certain you are in need of a bath after such a long travel.”

“Are you my new nanny?” asked Aziraphale. Eve looked at him with strange eyes, like she knew it was the first words he had spoken since Mother’s death.

“No, master Fell. Your uncle said you were too old to have a nanny. I am your chambermaid. I will help you dress and tidy your room during the day, and I will be the one to bring you food. You will have supper with the family, but otherwise you are to stay in your rooms or in the park. You cannot wander the park without warning, so you will have to call me first.”

Aziraphale nodded. Rules were different here than at home, but he didn’t care. Here, he wasn’t the masters’ child, but a poor relative. Mrs. Zuigiber had explained it at length, with a smile. Being a poor relative was not an enviable position, she had said. He wouldn’t have the comfort and the luxury he had been used to. Aziraphale had then understood he would have to sleep on the floor under a table, like his Father’s dogs. He couldn’t sleep in the attics, since the attics were for servants, and he wasn’t a servant, but a poor relative.

Aziraphale considered his room. He had a large bed, and there was a fire, and another door, wide open, that showed a larger, sunnier room.

Mrs. Zuigiber was a liar, he decided.

Eve prepared the bath, and Aziraphale folded his shirt and trousers on the bed before heading to the bathroom in his underclothes. The maid was talking to another servant with a jug of hot water.

The man was whispering, but Aziraphale had a good hearing.

“I can’t believe Sir Fell remarried before even a fortnight... Her Ladyship was seething when she heard the news. Can you imagine she had to read it in the paper? Her own sister wasn’t even cold in her grave! No wonder she sent for the child. Wouldn’t want her nephew to be raised by a murderess!”

“John!” chided Eve. “Don’t say that!”

“Everyone says it already, they say Lady Raphaelle’s accident was too convenient,” answered John with a shrug.

“Everyone should shut their mouth, then,” cut Eve in a sharp tone.

“And the gall of the woman, sending her sister with Lady Raphaelle’s kid! Did you hear her? Offering her condolences! I thought the Master was about to have her thrown out!”

“Shut your mouth, John! Don’t talk of the masters like that!”

Aziraphale padded back to his bed unnoticed and sat on it calmly.

He _hated_ John. John was a mean man. He liked Eve, and that was a good thing, because she was pretty and would take care of him everyday. It was always better to like the persons you would see everyday.

He didn’t know what to think about Aunt Frances. On one hand, she was the only person that was willing to take him in. On the other end, if John was right, she was the one that asked for him to leave his house. But John was a mean man and a liar, so maybe he had lied about this too.

Aziraphale decided to reserve his judgement about Aunt Frances.

After all, she had smiled at him.

* * *

The second day, Aziraphale woke up early and dressed, then he sat on the bed to wait for Eve. He waited a long time, but he could watch the sun rise and he had opened his window to listen to the birds.

“Master Fell! Are you up already?”

That was not a very smart question, so he didn’t answer.

“And you dressed on your own?” she seemed so surprised the child frowned.

“I am eight,” he told her. Was he supposed to let Eve dress him? Maybe it was one of the rules in this house. He asked Eve, who tried not to laugh.

“Oh, no, young Master, it isn’t a rule, and I’m glad to see one of the child in this house at least seems able to lace his own shoes.”

She put her tray on the table and poured him a cup of cocoa. Aziraphale beamed. He loved cocoa, and had only had it once before.

Eve laughed joyously when he drank it all in one go, and told him he could have some every morning if he behaved. She talked about the family while he ate his pancakes with honey, telling him how his uncle was often absent, how his aunt spent the most of her day painting and should not be disturbed. She barely mentioned his cousins Michael, Gabriel, Uriel and Sandalphon, but Aziraphale had the feeling she wouldn’t have a lot of good things to say about them. Fortunately, he had been declared too young to be allowed to join them.

Aziraphale considered asking Eve why his uncle Lucian considered him too old for a nanny but too young to play with his cousins, but since he had never liked the company of other children, he stayed silent on the matter.

“Can I go outside, please?” he asked instead politely, his breakfast finished.

Eve’s lips twitched like she tried not to smile. “Why, certainly. I have some work to finish first, but I can accompany you in an hour and show you the paths. Why don’t you visit your playroom while you are waiting?”

He already knew the playroom. It was the former nursery. There weren’t any books, only toys for babies, and he would rather have waited in his bedroom. But he needed to behave, so he waited there, looking out the window and wondering if he was authorized to visit the library.

“All right, Master Fell, let us go. Take your coat, it looks like rain outside. I fear your outing will be a little short.”

Eve handed him his white coat, the one Mother had bought for him on their travel to London. He loved this coat, and it was the only thing he had to remember her by since Mrs Zuibiger had removed her portrait from his trunk. Father had it unhooked from the gallery wall, and Aziraphale had thought he could take it.

Mrs Zuibiger had said it was stealing.

The garden was beautiful, and larger than the one in his old home. Aziraphale’s steps lightened and he started to wander, smelling the flowers and touching the trees in greeting. After a while, Eve told him she had to get back to work and would come back to call him for lunch or if it started to rain. He should not wander too far, she added.

He really did want to obey, but Aziraphale’s feet had a propensity to wander along with his thoughts, and it didn’t take long for him to realise he was utterly and definitely lost. Fortunately, there was a wall just a few yards away, and he soon realized that if the wall surrounded the mansion, then following it would lead him to the gates, and he would be able to get back to the house.

He walked for a few minutes, and started to forget that he was lost and needed to hurry.

“What are you doing here?” asked an accusatory voice.

He startled and turned to his left, locking eyes with a very strange boy.

His hair was red, and he looked angry, but Aziraphale was only seeing the strange, honeyed eyes. He had never seen such eyes before.

“You are not allowed here,” said the boy threateningly, marching towards him. “It’s private property.”

“I live here. I arrived yesterday,” answered Aziraphale, feeling guilty. He was bringing troubles already. He always brought troubles, even when he tried not to.

The boy with the golden eyes stopped and bit his lips. “You’re the new young master?” he asked, all anger gone. “Master Fell?”

Aziraphale nodded “That is me. And what is your name?”

The other blanched. “Crowley. I apologise for my behaviour, master Fell,” he said, looking down, hair falling in front of his eyes like a red curtain.

Aziraphale blinked, surprised. “You did not know me, and strangers are not allowed on the property, so you did nothing wrong.”

It was the first time someone seemed to fear him, and he didn’t like that at all.

“I lost my way,” he explained. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to the house?”

The golden eyes shot up again. “Are you sure you’re the son of a Lady?” wondered Crowley with an amused smile. “You’re awfully polite.”

“A gentleman should be polite and proper in every circumstance,” answered Aziraphale, straightening his back.

Crowley’s eyebrow shot up to the roots of his hair and he seemed about to talk, but he shrugged and started to walk through the trees, inviting Aziraphale to follow him with a tilt of his head. Rain started to fall.

They walked for a few minutes, the trees shielding them from the downpour, and Aziraphale studied his companion. Crowley was taller by a head, and his skin was tanned by the sun. there was twigs in his hair, who had been tied back at some moment but was now trying and succeeding to escape. He walked like the bushes and trees around him were his, and his eyes had a light in them that had nothing to do with their peculiar colour.

Aziraphale wanted very much to draw him. He reminded him of a cat. Cats were his favourite models. Always confident, always agile, and so free. He had often dreamt of being a cat, and he was fairly sure Crowley had dreamt the same and achieved it.

“Here you are, master Fell,” announced the boy with a grin and a flourish of his hand, pushing a branch aside with the other. The mansion was only a few yards away, and Aziraphale sighed in relief as he recognized Eve, looking for him in the entryway. He took two steps before realising Crowley wasn’t following.

“Aren’t you coming too?”

The other boy blushed, looking away. “I’m not supposed to talk to the family. I’ll go in by the servant’s entrance.”

The servant’s entrance was on the other side of the house, and there was no tree to protect Crowley from the rain. You could catch your death in the rain, nanny always said.

Aziraphale was fairly certain servants didn’t have hot baths waiting for them when they got drenched. With a roll of his shoulders, he shook his coat off. It was a good coat, it would protect Crowley from the rain long enough.

“What are you doing?”

“I won’t tell my aunt and uncle that you talked to me,” promised Aziraphale, pushing the coat into Crowley’s arms.

“What? No, are you insane? You’re one of the masters, I can’t take your clothes!”

“It’s too short for me anyway!” lied Aziraphale, already running towards Eve, who hurried to meet him as soon as she saw him.

Crowley stood frozen on the spot, then donned the white coat in slow motion and slithered his way to the back door, unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale had to dress in his nicest clothes for the meal with the family. Aunt Frances had declared that mourning clothes weren’t good for such a young child, and since most of his attire was black or purple there wasn’t a lot of choice left. He only had two others sets of clothes, the green one he had for church, and his favourite beige shirt and trousers that were definitely not good enough for a formal dinner, according to Eve.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale had grown up a lot in the last few months and the green attire was a little too tight to be comfortable. He never had been a thin child, but the clothes made him look definitively chubby. Eve was rummaging through his wardrobe in hope of some miracle while he looked out the window. He had told her he’d lost his coat in the woods, and she wasn’t very happy about it, but Crowley had said he would be in trouble if the family learned they had talked, and Aziraphale didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, especially Crowley.

The young gardener seemed only a little older than himself. Aziraphale loved gardens, and always spent a lot of time outside with his books at home. Could it be possible to see Crowley every day? Could they talk together while Crowley worked, and be friends? He never had a friend before, and didn’t have hopes of becoming one with the children of the house, since his uncle didn’t want him to play with them. Crowley had been nice, and helped him when he was lost. Aziraphale didn’t have much left, but he had given his coat, and knowing it had sheltered Crowley from the rain, that he had _helped_ someone, was making him happy for the first time in weeks. Maybe Crowley would remember him when he would wear the coat in the future. It would be good to know that someone was thinking of him sometimes.

Wearing his awkward green suit, he followed Eve to the dining room. It wasn't very far from his chambers, since they were both on ground floor. His aunt, uncle and cousin's rooms were all on the first and second floor, another clear reminder of his _poor relative_ condition. Eve had taken him on a tour the day before, and he could have found the dining room on his own, but Eve's presence was too comforting to say anything.

He was placed next to his aunt for dinner, and was introduced to his cousins while the soup was served.

Michael, the oldest, was a girl of sixteen. Eve had told Aziraphale that she had had two propositions of marriage already, one from a peer, and had been particularly eager to answer it positively. The only reason she was still here, Eve said, was that Lady Frances refused that any of her children marry before the age of eighteen. Michael had a sharp face and even sharper eyes. She greeted Aziraphale coldly before looking away with indifference.

The second was Gabriel, eldest son and heir. That was the way he introduced himself upon seeing Ezra. “I am your cousin Gabriel, eldest son and heir to Eden’s Park,” he said in a haughty voice, and Aziraphale thought that, as the poor relative, he wouldn’t be very polite to point that he had been an eldest son and heir himself a few days ago. Now that Father had sent him away, he imagined the title wasn’t his anymore.

Gabriel was fourteen and was tall and handsome, like his father Lucian. He had beautiful, purple eyes, and Aziraphale would have wanted to draw them had they held any warmth.

Gabriel’s twin Sandalphon was short and looked at Aziraphale with a smile that wasn’t nice at all. He had seen that smile already, on one of the stablemen back home, and Father had made the man go one day. Nanny had said it was a dreadful story and had refused to tell him more about it, but Aziraphale had heard her talking to the housekeeper and they had agreed that he always had a nasty smile.

Sandalphon had a very nasty smile too, and told Aziraphale to “remember his place”. Aunt Frances clucked her tongue at that, and Sandalphon had looked down, but he’d shot a mean look at Aziraphale once his mother had looked elsewhere.

The last child was Uriel, and she was eleven. She didn’t seem as haughty as her siblings, had dark skin and short hair, and nodded in greetings as she was introduced.

At first, Aziraphale thought that maybe this cousin would be willing to be nice to him, but he realised during the meal that she just didn’t care enough about his presence to appear annoyed by it.

All four children looked very different but had the same, cold eyes as their father, and they looked at him with disdain when he said “thank you” to the footman who filled his glass of water. Uncle Lucian raised one of his perfect devilish eyebrows and for a second he seemed angry, but he only pressed his lips together in distaste before turning back to his soup. Aunt Frances didn’t seem to have heard him at all, and was looking dreamily into the distance.

Aziraphale blushed in shame, put his hands on the table and didn’t eat at all after that, afraid to commit another blunder. Aunt Frances patted his hand and smiled at him when Eve came to find him after desert.

“You only ate a little soup, Aziraphale. Are you sure you are not hungry any more?” she asked.

He shook his head, bided goodnight to the family and followed the maid to his rooms. On his way out, he heard Gabriel say “A little diet can only benefit our cousin anyway,” and Sandalphon snickered.

Eve wasn’t smiling and her lips were clenched tight as she helped him undress from his awful attire. She left him alone for a while and came back with a plate of cheese and bread and a bowl of soup that he ate with huge relief. Then the maid opened the window slightly to let in the cool air of the night and put him to bed before taking the candle with her and wishing him a good night. He tried to answer, but his voice was lost.

Eve looked at him strangely, and Aziraphale wasn’t familiar enough with pity to recognize it yet. Then she reached out, carded her fingers through his hair, and smiled.

“Everything is going to be all right, Master Fell,” she promised.

Aziraphale felt a little reassured. He knew Eve was not a liar. Still, as he waited in the dark, he had to clench his jaw and remind himself that he was too old to cry.

He often had trouble sleeping and already knew that this night would be a long one. He had no candle, no book, and no pencils to occupy himself. So he folded his hands over his stomach and tried to imagine a story for his own benefit.

“Hey!”

Aziraphale blinked, and looked to the door, which was still closed. Someone was talking to him, and he was almost sure it wasn’t his imagination.

“Are you asleep?” whispered the voice, and Aziraphale knew he’d heard it already.

“Is that you, Crowley?” he asked in the same tone.

“Yes, at the window.”

Aziraphale got up and peered out the window. Right under it, Crowley was looking up, a bundle in his arms. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

Crowley stomped his foot angrily. “You’re asking _me_ if I’m… never mind. I brought your coat.”

Aziraphale reached out to take the bundle. It had been folded with great care in butcher paper.

“It’s dry and clean, I didn’t spoil it, I swear,” mumbled Crowley, making the other boy frown.

“I am sure you took good care of it. You could have kept it, you know,” answered Aziraphale, feeling a lump form in his throat. He was glad to have his mother’s coat returned, but had been happy to know that the young gardener had it. Getting it back felt an awful lot like when Father had told him he couldn’t stay in his house.

“No, I couldn’t. I’m a servant. There would have been questions, and they would have thought I’d stolen it,” explained Crowley.

Aziraphale gasped. How could anyone think such a thing? “I would have told them it was a gift!”

The golden eyes flashed furiously. “You can’t do that! You will have a lot of troubles if you say something like that! You’re one of the masters, you can’t make gifts to servants, you idiot!” he bit his lips and looked away, regaining his composure. “Forgive me for my language, Master Fell.”

“I forgive you,” answered Aziraphale automatically. You should always accept an apology, nanny had taught. “But maybe you shouldn’t call people idiots. It isn’t very nice.”

“I’m not nice!” snapped Crowley, “I just came to bring you back your coat.”

Aziraphale bowed awkwardly, hindered by the window. “Thank you. That was very considerate of you.”

Crowley gaped at him for a few seconds, huffed, and mumbled something that sounded a lot like _'unbelievable'_. Then he raised his voice again. “All right. Good night then, Master Fell.”

“Wait! Will I see you tomorrow in the garden?” asked Aziraphale anxiously.

Crowley’s eyes widened and for a second his cool demeanour disappeared and gave place to a desperate, hungry look. Then the boy dipped his head and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not supposed to talk to you, and you shouldn’t talk to the staff. ‘Specially me,” he answered in a toneless voice before turning on his heels.

Aziraphale watched him walk away in the dark, then sat on the floor and unfolded the butcher paper with slow motions. His white coat was there, neat and pressed, and it was like suddenly all the sorrow and the fear that had been trapped in his chest these last few weeks were freed all at once.

He wasn’t a demonstrative child. Smiles didn’t come to him easily, and he almost never cried. But the first tear opened the gate to a true flood, and Aziraphale clutched the white fabric against his chest, unable to stop his sobs as every thought he had tried to push away for so long crashed into him.

Mother was dead. He would never see nanny again. He had lost his room, and his books, and the old oak tree he liked to climb on to read.

Father didn’t want him, his cousins were not nice, Uncle Lucian scared him and Mother was _dead_.

He tried to stop, to get a grip and act like a well behaved boy, but nobody cared if he behaved, nobody cared about him at all, and it made him cry even harder.

It took him a long time to realise he wasn’t alone. Someone was talking to him, and he couldn’t understand the words, but soon there was a hand gingerly touching between his shoulders, and it helped him focus on the voice. It seemed as distressed as he was himself.

“I’m sorry! Sorry, I didn’t want to make you cry! I’ll come see you in the garden tomorrow, just… please stop crying! I’ll keep the coat if you want, I didn’t want to be mean!”

Strangely, it was Crowley’s panic that helped Aziraphale calm down. A soothing voice and reassurances would have been a good approach, but the young servant’s anxiety managed just as well, and after a minute Aziraphale was quiet, feeling calm and oddly empty.

“I’m sorry,” said Crowley again, leaning away a little and snatching his hand back.

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s not because of you,” he murmured.

Crowley seemed to ponder, then sat down and folded his arms around his knees. “Is it because your mother is dead?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded.

“Mine too. Last year. I cried a lot,” said Crowley in an even tone. Aziraphale knew he was pretending not to be sad. He had done it enough lately to recognize it.

The gardener looked away for a moment, then sighed. “I know they’ve been mean to you tonight. That’s why I came. I wanted to see if you were all right.”

Aziraphale blinked, surprise shaking him out of his stupor. “How did you know? Who told you?”

Crowley smirked. “I eat in the servant’s quarter, Master Fell. The staff talks, you know. The footmen like you. Eve says you’re a little angel.” he curled his lips in distaste. “Is it true that you’re always saying _thank you_ to the staff?”

Aziraphale felt himself blush again. “Should I stop?”

Crowley grimaced and rolled his head, making some odd noises as he thought. “Maybe during dinners. You’re not supposed to act like you see us when the family is eating or receiving guests. But it’s okay the rest of the time. Lady Frances thanks us too, when she notices us. She’s an artist,” he added with a little shrug, like it explained it all.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his nightgown, trying to give himself enough courage to talk. “Will you… will you really talk to me tomorrow?”

The young gardener got up and nervously walked to the window. He was looking shy for the first time since Aziraphale met him. “Why do you want to talk to me, Master Fell? I’m just a servant.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “I like you. You helped me, and you are nice.”

“Don’t call me _nice_! I’m not!”

Aziraphale giggled. “All right. I won’t call you nice, but you have to stop calling me “master Fell”.”

Crowley made a face, but his eyes twinkled. “What am I supposed to call you? You _are_ a master.”

He hopped down the window, landing on the grass with ease, and looked up with a sly grin. “Course I can still call you _angel_.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “I have a name, you know. It’s Aziraphale.”

A low chuckle answered him from the shadows. “Yeah, I know that, _angel._ ”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale discovers that Eve is married, and Crowley learns something very upsetting about his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am LATE!!  
> Ok, I know that in a lot of countries it's still sunday, but here it is 2am already, and I'm sorry for the delay.  
> This week was crazy, I am studying a lot for an exam in two weeks and I had no brain left in the evenings. I hope it won't last, because it was very disturbing not being able to write!  
> I think the chapter count will have to raise at some point... I never intended for the boys to stay children for so long, but these kids have SO MUCH to say!!

Aziraphale ran out the front door and into the trees of the park. He really hoped Crowley would be there, but he had missed the last two days and wasn’t sure if his companion would bother to wait for him after being stood up several times in a row.

He hadn’t known he would be out on a trip, of course, or he would have warned Crowley, but still, it was very rude. If only aunt Frances had warned him, or at least warned Eve, of the impending trip! But no, she had told him during dinner that he would be going to London on the following morning to buy new clothes, and there had been no way of telling someone to warn Crowley, since they weren’t supposed to know each other.

Eve had been a little grumpy herself. During the long ride in the coach, Aziraphale had learned that she didn’t like to be separated from her husband. Which had also made him realise that Eve was married. She had laughed at his surprise, and had told him he would meet with her husband very soon, since he was the children’s private professor and Lady Frances had asked him to teach Aziraphale too, twice a week.

Lessons meant _books_ , and this had been such good news that the boy had forgotten to feel guilty about Crowley for almost a whole hour. He had asked about his future master. His name was Adam Prime (so Eve’s name had to be Prime too, he’d thought) and he was very smart and knew everything, according to Eve.

Then his thoughts had gone back to his red-haired friend. Well, not friend, no. It was way too presumptuous to consider them that close. Crowley was two years older and certainly didn’t want to be _friend_ with a little child, but he always waited for him at their usual spot when Aziraphale was allowed out after breakfast. And he talked to him. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all, they just worked in the garden in silence, but even that was nice.

Aziraphale wished he had some books to read, but in his two months at Heaven Park he had learned how to weed a flowerbed, so he wasn’t bored. At least, not when he was outside.

Panting a little, he squeezed through two bushes and started to run again. It was already two o’clock. They always met each other in the morning. He had to find Crowley, he absolutely had to, or he would have missed their rendezvous for three whole days, and that was certainly enough to frustrate anyone!

Crowley was kneeling near the wall, picking at some weeds, and didn’t even turn when he heard the hurried steps closing in.

Aziraphale took in the rigid posture of the young gardener and grimaced. He’d known Crowley would be angry.

“Sorry I wasn't here!,” he cried in a rush. “Eve took me to London to buy clothes for Michael’s birthday reception, we slept at an inn and only got back yesterday just in time for supper, then I had to go to bed and this morning I had my first lesson with Mr. Prime-”

“I know,” snapped Crowley, finally turning on his heels to face him. He stood up in a graceful motion, reminding him again more of a cat than a human. “It’s fine, you don’t have to explain yourself. I know you were out.”

He still wasn’t looking directly at Aziraphale. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea we were going out. I thought about leaving you a message but we hadn’t talked about it.”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know… a secret place to exchange messages? Like, I don’t know, a hollowed tree trunk? Somewhere we would be the only ones to know about?” provided Aziraphale helpfully.

Crowley looked away, pressing his lips together. “We don’t need that. Either we meet or we don’t. No worry.”

“But it would be easier...” started Aziraphale, warming up to his idea and not ready to abandon it.

“No, it’s stupid,” said Crowley coldly, going back to his weeding.

Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, then crouched near him and hesitantly started to pull on some grass. Crowley looked very cross for a second, then sighed. “I know you had no choice when you left. It’s just… at first I thought maybe the masters changed their minds and sent you away.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, beaming. “Thank you, Crowley.”

His friend blinked and frowned again. “What for? Being an ass?”

“It’s good to know you would miss me if I had to go away.”

“I never said I would _miss_ you.”

“It’s all right,” answered Aziraphale, still smiling brightly. “I would miss you too.”

“Do you have to always be so bloody cheerful?” whined Crowley, sprawling in the grass dramatically.

“It is a beautiful day!” assured Aziraphale. “How can _you_ be so cranky?”

His smile faded brusquely as he looked a little more closely at the other. “Is everything all right, Crowley?”

“M’fine,” was the muted response. Aziraphale felt concern building up. Crowley was often grouchy, but he really seemed put out this time.

“Did something happen?” he asked tentatively.

Crowley hissed. “I told you I was _fine_!” he snapped.

 _Oh, just perfect, I angered him_ , thought Aziraphale, biting his lip and looking away. Why did he always have to say the wrong thing? Cousin Gabriel was right, he was awfully annoying. Better leave now, before Crowley realised how useless he really was as a potential friend.

“I… I have to go get ready for the reception. I’ll come back tomorrow if you want...” he offered, trying to sound cheerful. A pale hand shot up and snatched his wrist before he could totally get up.

“Stay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stared at Crowley for a few seconds, but the boy was decidedly looking away. Slowly, Aziraphale sat back, wondering what to say to break the heavy silence between them. Something was obviously wrong, and Crowley was certainly mad, but he couldn’t ask about it. He started to fiddle nervously with the ring hanging on the silver chain around his neck.

“It’s Miss Michael’s birthday today,” said Crowley, startling Aziraphale. He was trying to sound casual but there was an edge to his voice.

“Yes,” answered the boy, deciding a simple answer would be safer.

Crowley continued like he was talking to himself. “There’s always a big celebration for the children of the house. Course this time it’s kinda an even bigger deal, since Miss Michael turns seventeen. But even for the others, there’s a party, and friends, and cakes. Lady Frances is the daughter of a Lord, after all. Her children are _important_.”

The last word had been full of venom.

“That sounds lovely,” answered Aziraphale, wondering where this conversation was coming from, where it was going, and why Crowley still refused to look at him.

His companion’s head shot to the side and golden eyes finally met his. “Lovely? Are you fucking _kidding_ me? _Lovely_? You’ve been here two months and I have no recollection of any celebration for _your_ birthday!”

 _Oh_.

Aziraphale blushed and looked at his hands. “It is not a big deal. How did you know about it?”

“Certainly not from you, that’s for sure!” accused Crowley. “Adam told us he gave you your first lesson today and when he asked you about your age you told him you were _nine_. You weren’t nine last month. When was it?”

Aziraphale mumbled something.

“You’ll have to speak louder, angel,” snarled Crowley, and that was a relief. Crowley never called him that when he was truly angry.

“It was last week,” said Aziraphale in a murmur. “Sorry,” he added as a second thought.

Crowley cursed loudly and at length. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He really hadn’t. His birthday never had been a big deal before. Mother usually spent a moment with him, and they ate cake together, but since Mother was dead he had thought that no one would want to celebrate it with him.

Crowley said “Ngk,” which didn’t mean a thing but was apparently a word in the young gardener’s language. He tended to use it a lot.

“Well you should have a party too. T’s only natural. You’re an Earl’s grandson too after all.”

“I am only a poor relative,” reminded Aziraphale. “I didn’t expect anything. I am not a real member of the family.”

“I have _no_ family and the cook made a cake for my birthday,” growled Crowley, pulling weeds with angry movements. “There was a candle, even, and Eve offered me a book.”

“You have a _book_?” cried Aziraphale, eyes widening.

Crowley startled, and blinked in confusion. “Err… yes? Why, do you think that just because I’m a servant, I can’t read?”

But Aziraphale was way too excited to listen. “Would you lend it to me? When we meet? I’ll take care of it, I promise! I could just read a little each day, I won’t even take it away if you prefer to keep it close!”

Crowley squinted his eyes. “Angel, it’s just a book. A very boring one, even. I’ve read it, believe me it’s not very interesting. There’s nothing exciting happening, and it’s mostly about a stupid love story.”

Aziraphale gasped, enthralled. His companion shook his head, amused.

“You really want to read it, right?”

The boy nodded eagerly.

“You’re such a weirdo,” sighed Crowley. But Aziraphale saw the smile he was trying to hide.

“I didn’t know Eve had books. Of course I should have guessed, since her husband is a teacher,” mused the boy after a while.

“Oh they have lots of books! At least thirty,” explained Crowley, leaning on the grass and propping his chin on his hand. “Most of them are Eve’s. She’s the one who taught me to read, you know. First thing she did when I got there. I didn’t want to, but she told me I had no choice. Said that knowledge was everything.”

“She really taught you to read? And write?”

“Yep, every evening after supper, after I helped clean the kitchen. She said I’m a fast learner,” declared Crowley, looking quite smug.

Aziraphale nodded wordlessly. Crowley _was_ very bright, and knew a lot of things. It was such a shame that he couldn’t go to class too…

“You should take lessons with me,” he declared, looking up at the clouds.

A chuckle answered him. “Yeah, right, I’m sure the masters would be thrilled. I’m not a posh boy, Aziraphale. I’m a servant.”

A long time passed without a word between the two of them, but it was an easy silence, and when Aziraphale turned his head he realised Crowley had fallen asleep, head on his forearms. He smiled, feeling very happy.

They may not be friends, but he knew that Crowley _liked_ him. This was a nice feeling, being liked. Father hated him, that much was obvious. Mother had loved him, he was almost certain of it, but it was difficult to know now, since she was dead and wouldn’t be able to tell him. Maybe she had, when he was too young to understand or remember it.

Nanny had been paid to like him, so it didn’t count. So was Eve. Aunt Frances was… absent, Uncle Lucian was scary, and his cousins found him ridiculous and stupid, and liked to say it to his face (specially Gabriel and Sandalphon). He couldn’t disagree with them, to be fair. He wasn’t very interesting.

No, as far as he could recall, Crowley was the very first person to really appreciate his company. He had no idea as to why, but he would try to enjoy it while it lasted.

Maybe someday they would even be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY hope to post at least once before next sunday! I have so many things I want to add to this chapter!  
> There will be lots of things happening fairly soon. Angst is on its way^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years have passed, and Aziraphale has a very important question to ask Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been SUCH a long time!  
> So sorry to have made you wait like this. I intended to write more, but my mind wasn't into it. Now my exams are done (and I passed! Yay!) and I hope to be able to write more often.  
> Of course, I have Whumptober to take care of first, but I havent forgotten about my two boys!  
> This story is not over!

Three years had passed, and Aziraphale still didn’t feel like being home. There were only two places where he could be truly himself. The first was of course the garden. He still spent most of his free time outside, out of sight of his family’s eyes. The second was his bedroom, the only place in the house that was _his_.

Aunt Frances had heard about his love of books during his second summer in Heaven Park (Aziraphale suspected that Eve was behind that realisation), and had immediately gifted him with an entire crate of them that came from her personal library.

Any other child would have given the tomes one look before leaving them to collect dust. These were not children books. Mathematics, philosophy, astronomy, lots of novels whose vocabulary was not deemed appropriate for an eleven year old, and duplicate copies of the entire Iliad. In English and in Greek.

Only one adult in the house cared enough about Aziraphale to take interest in his reading, and that was Eve.

Eve didn’t mind the books. She knew her young master was way above his age in his English studies, and was happy to see his thirst for knowledge finally quenched.

If the child couldn’t understand something, then he would someday. And if he liked to play with them in the park, pretending to read in a language he didn’t know, where was the problem? He was always very careful and never so much as dog-eared a page.

Eve knew Aziraphale better than his own family, and still even she never realised that the boy had read every single tome at least twice in less than a few months. The Greek Iliad hadn’t interested him at first, but after reading every other book several times he’d gotten bored again and had decided to study that strange writing, comparing it with the English book.

He still missed lots of words, which annoyed him to no end, but took great pains in copying the letters and the words he understood. At eleven, he was probably the only child in the neighbourhood whose written Greek was almost flawless. He still had no idea how to pronounce it, though, and had given up entirely on the signification of accents.

The book that took him the longest to open was “The Art of War”. Aziraphale didn’t like confrontation, and war was the worst kind of all. But as soon as he started it, he couldn’t stop reading, sacrificing an entire night of sleep and two candles over it. The book became one of his favourite, and he almost begged Crowley to read it too, his companion shaking his head with that close-mouthed grin of his every time.

The gardener had accepted the loan of the novels and the astronomy book, though. Crowley had always loved stars, and had borrowed it several times in the last months. It was a beautiful tome, with a leather cover, and illustrations. By far the nicest of Aziraphale’s little collection.

With a smile, the boy left the path of white stones that lead to the mansion and entered the garden, carefully cradling the paper-wrapped bundle against his chest. Today was a special day. Today, he reminded himself, nodding sternly to give himself courage, he would ask Crowley to become his friend.

It was only fair, after all. Friendship was a lot to ask, but it would be wrong not to do it. If Crowley refused, it would be a hard blow, but it was to be expected and Aziraphale didn’t have a lot of illusions. The gardener reminded him often enough that they weren’t supposed to talk, and that their stations were not the same. To ask for more than his company was selfish, but Aziraphale had always been very selfish.

Finally, heart thumping wildly in his chest, he entered the clearing where they always met. Here was a lanky, overgrown body, sprawled on the ground. Golden eyes turned to him, and Crowley patted the grass at his side.

“Hiya, angel. Take a seat. Was thinking about working around the rosebushes today. Family’s out, and no one intends to work there.”

“That is a great idea!” exclaimed Aziraphale, carefully sitting down. He always had loved the rose garden, and would have been happy to meet Crowley there every day if not for its proximity to the house and the risk of getting caught talking to the staff.

“What have you got here?” wondered the other, peering at the parcel in his arms.

“Oh! It is a gift!” Aziraphale handed it over and Crowley took it with a befuddled expression.

“Gift?” he repeated dumbly, blinking in confusion.

“Happy birthday, Crowley. It _is_ today, isn’t it?” added Aziraphale in concern. Crowley seemed so startled. Did he get the day wrong?

The other let out a string of consonants, looking down at the square package in his hands, then back to Aziraphale.

“You didn’t have to...” he finally mumbled, blushing.

“I wanted to. Open it!”

Calloused fingers opened the paper with the same care they applied to plants, and Crowley gasped softly.

“Angel. I can’t take it.”

“Of course you can. I know you like it.”

“It’s way too expensive. I can’t accept,” insisted the gardener, pushing the astronomy book back into the other’s hands while looking at it with something close to despair.

Aziraphale looked down, feeling his heart grow heavy. “It’s all right. It’s your birthday, you can take it as a birthday gift,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady.

Crowley let out an amused snort. “How else could I take it anyway?” he let out, looking up from the book. His face fell as he met teary blue eyes.

“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?”

“Friends offer gifts!” wailed the boy, all the pent-up stress of the last hours finally exploding.

“Whot?” choked out Crowley, his eyes widening at the unexpected outburst. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“Friends offer each other gifts! But it’s your birthday! It’s normal to get gifts on your birthday! You don’t need to refuse it, you can take it because it’s socially acceptable, even if I’m a master-”

Crowley raised a hand. “Okay. Shut up a minute.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth tightly, hands clasped on the book’s cover. He knew if he let go of it, they would be shaking, and he wasn’t ready to let them.

The gardener sat up, mouth working silently, eyes gazing into the distance. They had known each other for a long time, and he was starting to have a good idea of Aziraphale’s ways of thinking. This one needed some time to translate, though.

“You want me to accept it as a _birthday_ gift,” he drawled on, “because I already refused it as a _friendship_ gift. Is that it?”

A nod was his only answer. Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“It’s a pricy book, angel. I can’t accept it because it costs a lot, that’s it. Not because we’re not friends. Of course we are, stupid.”

Aziraphale unclenched his hands and smoothed the leather cover. “We are?” he wondered in a small voice.

“Well yeah. It’s been three years.”

The boy’s head shot up. “What? You’ve been my friend for _three years_?”

Crowley covered his mouth to hide his smile. “Are you _angry_ at me?”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” yelled Aziraphale.

“I thought you knew! Why would I spend so much time with you if I wasn’t? Wait. Weren’t _you_ my friend, then?”

“I wanted to be! But I didn’t know it could happen like that, without discussing it. How could I know you’re my friend if you don’t _say_ it?”

Crowley’s merriment disappeared suddenly. He could see that Aziraphale was truly upset, and couldn’t laugh about it.

“You’re right, it’s stupid. People should say these things, since they talk about everything else. There’s at least three different words for the different levels of courting, and not one for becoming friends.”

Aziraphale nodded eagerly. He didn’t understand what could push someone to court someone else, and had observed Michael’s engagement with the same puzzlement he would offer a peacock's mating ritual, but at least there were clear rules for it, and it made it recognisable.

“If you spend time with someone you like, and you talk a lot, and are happy to see each other, then you’re friends,” explained Crowley with all the assurance of a thirteen year old.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking about Michael and her betrothed. She wasn’t happy to see him and they never talked, so being friends was apparently not required to be in love.

He held the book in both hands, and looked at his friend with great seriousness. “Will you accept this gift, then?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Already told you, it’s expensive.”

“I know it is, but your friendship is priceless,” answered the boy with big imploring eyes.

Crowley spluttered. This. This was Aziraphale through and through. One second clueless about the simplest things, and the other pulling _this_ kind of stunt. How was he supposed to refuse the book after that? It would imply he didn’t value their friendship as much.

 _Rascal_ , he thought, taking the book with a pout. Aziraphale beamed.

* * *

“Did you have a good time in the park, Master Aziraphale?” called Eve as she entered his room and started to display the five o’clock tea and cakes on the table.

Aziraphale put down his sketchbook and pencil and beamed at her.

“The very best,” he answered, eyes bright.

Eve repressed the urge to ruffle his hair. It was hard to stay in her place when the boy deserved so much affection and received only scraps of it.

As was his habit, Aziraphale ate as fast as possible, then looked at her beseechingly. “Can I go back outside, Eve?”

With a laugh, she nodded, shaking her head fondly as he hurried out. The young master really loved the park, even more than food, and that was saying something.

A soft thud made her turn around. The boy’s sketchbook had fallen open from the windowsill. Frowning, Eve retrieved it and smoothed the cover. Master Aziraphale loved to draw, and it would be awful to have his work spoiled-

She gasped. Staring right back at her from the paper were two golden eyes she knew very well. Red hair, a soft smile.

This was bad. Really, really bad. The sketch could only have been done by someone who was well acquainted with the subject. Crowley almost _never_ smiled.

They knew each other.

She closed her eyes, a feeling of doom invading her. “Oh, my boy. What have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for some angst in next chapter^^


End file.
